


A Long And Bumpy Ride

by DixieDale



Series: Promises [3]
Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:49:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28548162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When the guys are set up to take the fall for a nasty incident in London and end up in the stockade on charges of theft, burglary, and oh yes, murder, they are trusting in Garrison to believe their side of things, to come to the rescue.  Would he really just turn his back on them and walk away?  Was their trust, their faith in their leader misplaced, after all they'd gone through together?  A long and bumpy ride is ahead for them all, with a few hard lessons waiting to be learned along the way.
Series: Promises [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086632
Kudos: 1





	A Long And Bumpy Ride

It hadn't been one of their better moments. Found at the scene of a break-in and attempted burglary at Pemberly House, the home of one of the more important of the Whitehall residents, a scene where one man, Keith Witherspoon, was dead of a knife thrust to the heart and two of the family itself, a niece and nephew of the owner, were sporting minor knife wounds and pointing accusing fingers, they'd been gathered up and immediately placed under lock and key. It had only been three of them at first - Chief, Goniff, Casino - but Actor, pulled away from an elegant dinner with a fair lady, had soon been shoved, protesting all the way, into that cold shared jail cell as well.

A hurried low conference and they could agree on two things, at least. One, they'd been duped, set up, big time, since Casino and the others had arrived in response to a supposed message from a trusted colleague on one of the other teams, only to find the place in a shambles and military MP's coming out of the woodwork. And the second thing they knew, without a doubt, Garrison would find them, would come, and would get things straightened out.

Unfortunately, it seemed there was enough evidence of their guilt that no one was going to listen to any explanation they tried to make, much less believe it. Actor, it appeared, was considered guilty by reason of association. 

As for the second, it took only a minute or two after Lieutenant Craig Garrison's arrival to have them rethinking that as well.

Their anxious eyes snapped to the young officer so calmly throwing them under the bus, that look of annoyed impatience being the only emotion showing in those cool and distant green eyes.

"No, Colonel. No matter what you've been told. I have no intention of vouching for them, taking responsibility for them, at least for these three. Yes, they are quite talented, and we've been able to pull off some highly-complicated jobs because of that. But that doesn't mean I'm willing to light my career on fire and watch it go up in flames just to cover for them. After all, you DID say they were all but caught in the act. 

"Actor, now, I understand he wasn't with them. Well, I doubt he was part of this in the first place; it's simply not his type of operation unless under my orders on a mission. I'm willing to vouch for him, anyway, take him into my custody; I can still use him. 

"The others? Well, Casino could have opened that safe, no question about it; probaby one of the few men who could have from what you've told me about the level of complexity involved. Chief? The knife work you described sounds like his, and he follows along with Casino most times, out of habit if nothing else. Unfortunately, it's a habit I've been unable to break him of, so this little excursion finishes him for me. He's not my problem anymore; neither of them are."

Colonel Lamb waited, "and the Cockney, Lieutenant Garrison? What about him? Will he be going with you as well?" 

After all, he heard the rougher man growl as they'd been pushed into the cell, "the Warden better hurry the hell up and get us out of here! Otherwise, it's gonna be a long and bumpy ride!" He'd also heard that eager response, "don't worry, Casino. The Lieutenant, 'e won't let us down! 'E'll get us out, you know that!" There had been no hesitation, no reservation in that low voice, and Lamb was curious about that, the confidence displayed under circumstances that certainly didn't warrant it.

Garrison looked at the slender man slumped on the cot in the cold cell, eyes wide with shock at what had gone before. If there was anything there on Garrison's part, more than with Casino and Chief, no one could have known it by the dismissal on the officer's face, his neutral body language, his firm tone of voice OR his words.

"Absolutely not. If there's trouble with this crew, Goniff's going to be there, neck deep if not deeper; half the time, it's his idea in the first place. He's good at the job, I admit, but frankly, I don't need the hassle. No, I won't vouch for him, even less than for the other two. He stays. Make sure to keep him, and the others, someplace safe and secure. I'm sure the military will have more than a few words for them, and will want them available whenever the time is right to deal with them," he said in a firm if unconcerned voice, seeing but not acknowledging the shock that intensified in those blue eyes, the flare of perhaps a deeper emotion, but one tamped down as quickly as it came to life, leaving a curious blankness in its place.

The man in the immaculate lieutenant's uniform turned from his chilly appraisal, giving the ranking officer a professional salute. 

"So, Colonel, if there's nothing else, I'd like to take Actor and be on my way. I'm sure HQ has a new job lined up for me, and if not, they will soon. I need to start finding the right men and start rebuilding the team. At least I have HIM, so I'm not starting from scratch."

Actor was motioned out of the cell, and he went; but then he hesitated, looked back, wanting, needing to say something, but not knowing what to say. And then, at an impatient word from their leader, he gave them one last anxious look, a look not echoed by the officer motioning him onward, and he turned to follow Garrison, and they were gone. 

And without another word from anyone, that heavy iron door clanked shut, the key turned, locking them into the cold dimness of the military cell.

There was silence, then a low "you watching his hands?" from Casino, barely loud enough to be heard by the other two, certainly not loud enough to be overheard if there was anyone else listening. Well, he had been watching, hadn't seen what he'd been expecting, but maybe one of the others had.

"Yeah, Pappy, I was watching. Nothing," came an equally low voice from Chief. Well, he had been watching too; they all had been watching, thinking they'd see one of their numerous signals, particuarly that 'just play along for now' one they used so often. But there had been no signal; there had been nothing, just that cold indifference from a man they'd come to believe in, to trust even with their lives.

"Goniff?" Casino asked, then when there was no answer, looked over at the other bunk. The pickpocket hadn't moved, was still staring blankly at that wall of bars that kept them from the hall Garrison had disappeared down.

"Goniff," Chief urged quietly, moving from his own bunk to join that frozen figure.

Slowly Goniff turned toward him, and there was no expression there, nothing. 

For all the connection Goniff had with the officer who'd just left, at least from what was evident on Garrison's side just now, they might as well have been strangers. Even working together these long months should have caused there to be more, much less everything else.

Then a pathetic attempt at a smile, one that affected only one side of his mouth and which lasted only a fraction of a second. "Looks like we're on our own, mates. At least Actor made it out; suppose that's something." His voice was rough and jagged, as if he'd spent the last several minutes screaming. Well, he had, just not out loud, but the aching muscles in his tight throat couldn't have told the difference.

Casino growled something low and harsh, moving over to sit beside Goniff, on the other side from Chief. By mututal unspoken agreement their voices stayed at nothing more than the faintest whisper. 

"Something, maybe. Not a hell of a lot, seeing as how we didn't have anything to do with that caper. Hell, it's like he'd never even seen us before; like we haven't bled plenty for him and his jobs. Makes you wonder if that really was Garrison, ya know?" 

Chief raised a thoughtful brow, looked at Goniff questioningly. It WAS a thought; it wouldn't be the first time someone ran in a ringer on them, though it had been with someone pretending to be Goniff before. Well, if anyone would know if that was the case now, . . .

Goniff dropped his head back against the wall, his eyes dull in what light the dim bulb could give them. He didn't have to answer; they could tell. Yeah, it was Garrison. And yeah, he'd just walked off, walked away, without a backward glance. He'd rescued one of them, and left the rest of them to dangle in the wind.

*

There was some additional conversation in the offices above, not much, then an impatient Garrison had left, Actor in tow. Obeying a flicker of movement from his leader, Actor had remained silent until they reached Marchant's Hotel and were safely ensconced in a room above. Then, his own impatience no longer able to be held back, he looked at Garrison.

"NOW are you going to tell me what is going on?! You know they had nothing to do with that break-in, the killing! I might not have been with them, but I know that and I cannot believe you do not as well!!"

Garrison gave him a weary look, handed him one of the two glasses of whiskey he'd just poured from the bottle on the side table, and motioned him to a chair. "It's a long story, Actor. And, of course I don't believe they were involved. They were set up, very nicely too. However, I have my orders not to interfere, not just yet; to leave them where they are. If you'd been caught on the scene, I would have had to leave you there too. I'm just glad you weren't; I can use your help. I'll be using my time - well, OUR time - to get to the bottom of this whole mess. There's a lot riding on it; someone's passing information to the Germans from Pemberly's side. The dead man, Witherspoon got wise, and whoever's involved took him out, pinning it on the guys. Witherspoon got the word out beforehand, at least enough to clue a few people, but we don't have enough to break it all wide open. That's our job. Oh, Colonel Lamb isn't in on this part of things; he's sure he's got the right men. It's Major Danaher who's running the real investigation, using me as the lead."

And Actor sat and listened, and considered. "When did you signal the men? And what did you signal? The 'play along' or something different; perhaps both? I must not have been in the right position to see."

When Garrison admitted there had been no signal, Actor frowned. "Was that wise? Surely they will hold up better knowing you believe them; otherwise it could become dangerous if they conclude they are on their own," he offered in a careful voice, but obviously disapproving of Garrison's omission.

"Actor, with all we've gone through together, I think their trust will hold up to a few hours in a jail cell, especially this side of the Channel," Garrison told him impatiently. "Danaher assured me they'd be kept safe and sound and out of this mess til we put the pieces together. He'll get them settled somewhere in the morning, when it wouldn't look odd to have them moved. I had my orders not to bring the guys in on it; if anyone is watching, keeping tabs, anything 'off' from them, any slip up could blow the whole operation." 

Still Actor persisted, that creeping feeling of unease getting stronger by the moment. "And you trust this Danaher, about what's going on, AND about keeping them safe," he said, without inflection. Garrison nodded absently, anxious to get to the important planning for what was ahead. Obviously, Actor wasn't quite so eager to move ahead, not without one final word.

"It is perhaps a pity you did not feel able to trust the men equally as well. I hope we do not come to regret that you did not. It is not as if they are not becoming quite expert at running a con, playing along to support us when WE are doing so." The disapproval was restrained, but it was there, without question. 

That got Actor an annoyed look, but the subject was then turned back to the operation at hand, and Garrison quickly forgot those reproving words. 

Until later, of course. Later, and far more frequently than was comfortable, those words would arise, at least in Craig Garrison's mind - "It is perhaps a pity you did not feel able to trust the men equally as well. I hope we do not come to regret that you did not." - Time after time after time he would remember - as the regrets piled up. 

*

Major Danaher sighed, looking at the tall stack of files in his In-Basket. So much to do, so little time. He glanced at his watch. Things should be going along at a brisk clip with that Pemberly job; Lieutenant Garrison had a reputation for getting things done, if in a slightly unorthodox manner sometimes. He huffed in mild disapproval of that request from the lieutenant, {"well, more of a demand really; quite impertinent of him, but I'll overlook that for the time being. Still, those men of his! They are convicts; surely they don't need the coddling he seems to expect me to provide! Why, the paperwork alone of transferring them somewhere, providing guards, preventing any mischief from them! The resources involved, and all quite needlessly! And it would be sure to draw attention, which is the last thing we need. No, no - no matter the good Lieutenant's overly developed sense of responsibility and protectiveness, they are best left right where they are. Far less troublesome all around!"}

*

Colonel Lamb had been satisfied with the interview with Lieutenant Garrison, even nodded thoughtfully several hours later when he was alone and reviewing the details. He had been satisfied with Garrison's response, though he wasn't sure it had been wise of the lieutenant to arrange for that man's release. Actor, it seemed he was called. Hopefully the officer had been right, that this Actor-person had not been involved. It had been put forward by a few of the others who knew about the Pemberly break-in, Major Kingston in particular, about whether the officer been involved in that job, maybe even the brains behind it. Now it was obvious he hadn't been. 

Well, and Lamb frowned, perhaps that wasn't totally an absolute. At least, if Garrison HAD been involved, he had seemed quite complacent about letting the others take the fall. And that just might be the case. 

In any case, they would be keeping a close eye on the clever and cunning Lieutenant Craig Garrison and his man, Actor. His Aide, Private Shaney, the son of a minor Welsh businessman and property owner, a most efficient young man, would be seeing to all the necessary details. At least the others were out of operation, tucked away til an appropriate determination could be made regarding their fate. It had been a mistake to ever bring them into the war effort, of course, at least without stronger controls over them. Oh, well, live and learn. {"Perhaps even our young Lieutenant Garrison will learn something, including about who to trust. Hopefully he will make better choices in the future, especially when selecting the men for his team."}

There would be quite a few people doing that within the next few weeks - living and learning - much to their joint discomfort.

For example, Colonel Lord Pemberly, member of several very important committees and boards and such, learned far more about his niece and nephew, Alice and Ellison Jarvits. One acting as his social hostess, the other as his assistant, they had happily been keeping track of all that passed across his desk and into his safe, along with who visited him, what associations he kept, sorting it all out to see what could keep their German masters happy and their own pocketbooks bulging. Til Colonel Lord Pemberly's Man of Business, Keith Witherspoon, started to wonder, started to ask a few awkward questions. 

Colonel Lamb eventually learned a few things about his Aide, the cunning Giles Shaney, who, when his girlfriend Alice Jarvits had warned him they needed to put her uncle's Man of Business off his inconvenient suspicions, permanently, had decided Garrison's men were the perfect patsies for the task and set things in motion. Well, their talents DID meet the requirements, and they already had the reputation for such nefarious doings, so it DID make sense. Couldn't involve Garrison, of course, him being an officer, unless he made a fuss about the arrest of the others, and if he did, well, no one doubted the man had enough enemies glad to take on the task of putting him in his place. Giles was sure Major Kingston, if no one else, would eagerly step up to the plate to deal with that little matter. As for that little side venture, he'd already given the word; all should go quite well in that direction as well.

Major Danaher, who got wind of the Pemberly operation and the red herrings being put into place, and pulled Garrison into the mix, but who neglected to put any safeguards in place for Garrison's men - he learned to think things through a little better, to look at more than just the 'big picture, the broad outline'. As he explained afterwards, in his earnest defense, he'd thought it made quite good sense - after all, they were convicts, Garrison's men; surely they could take care of themselves for the length of time this would take! He had hardly thought there was any sense in making a fuss or tying up other resources like that annoying Lieutenant Garrison was insisting upon! Well, he learned also a thing or two else, personally explained by Major Kevin Richards after the fact. Probably better Richards than anyone else, though. At least Richards stuck to flaying him with crisp well-edged words. There were others who might not have been so lenient.

Sergeant Cullahan, who had a brother-in-law with a tidy little family business enterprise, a business of which Cullahan got a nice cut of the profits in return for providing some necessary capital resources, learned a thing or two about running a business, even as a silent partner. It was a handy little business, true, in more ways than one; a business Cullahan had managed to make quite good use of over the past few years. But even a nice little business can, if not careful, become over-extended, overly-ambitious. So many small business ultimately fail due to similar mistakes by management. That small family business in Wales was only one of many to meet that fate.

Corporal Bates learned that working both sides of a situation could be profitable, but could also cause you to end up being the nut caught between opposing jaws of a powerful nutcracker - painful, if not worse, especially when you fail BOTH of those wielding the force.

Quite a few others at HQ and Whitehall and elsewhere added a few things to their portfolio of knowledge as well. Among others, Boomer, from Micah Davis's crew, learned it was his name used to draw the men into a trap; he wasn't thrilled, and neither were other trusted men from the teams. And when a few from the Friends and Family alliance of Clan O'Donnell learned that those particularly special to the Clan's Dragon had been set up, been placed in jeopardy - well, they weren't all that thrilled either. And when a few individuals from those two groups put their heads together, along with Craig Garrison and Actor, they learned just how much they could, (and, sadly, couldn't) accomplish in a timely manner to rectify an increasingly troublesome situation.

The men of Craig Garrison's team? They learned even a man they had come to like and trust - one expert at the 'pulling a rabbit out of a hat' business, the one always with a plan, always capable of pulling such an efficient con, and much more - that such a man could still disappoint them, could fail to live up to their expectations. That such a man had the power to break their heart.

Goniff was reminded, not that he hadn't already known it quite well, that truth is a creature with any number of faces - some kind, some cruel, some just coldly indifferent. A creature that a wise man tamed and brought under his control to serve him, not one he allowed to take control and rule him, his mind or his actions. For such a creature, if allowed to pick and choose its own path, could rend and tear at the very structure of a man's being, of his soul. 

Oh, and Craig Garrison? He learned a few things as well, perhaps him more than everyone else. He learned, or was at least reminded, that he wasn't infallible, and that when he screwed up, it wasn't just him who paid a price. He was reminded of things he should certainly have known by now - that a plan is only good til boots hit the ground, for example. And, if you are going to expect someone to trust you, you have to be willing to offer that same trust in return. That the level of trust you can place in a man depended on the MAN, not his title or the rank he displays on his uniform. He was reminded, as well, that the measure of a man didn't come in inches or pounds, but in more important, if sometimes less definable ways. He learned, or at least re-learned, that Casino had one hell of a punch. He learned words only go so far, and sometimes a logical argument or a flowery speech just won't do the trick, not when everything is hanging in the balance. And ultimately, he learned that, even when the time seemed all wrong for delivering a promise, sometimes that didn't matter - sometimes it was only the promise, the rock-solid intent to keep that promise, that mattered in the long run. 

In the cell below, the men sat quietly, each thinking their own thoughts. Casino jumped when Goniff let out a huge breath and then spoke for the first time in over an hour. They'd left him alone, wanting to give him time to process what had happened, but they were more than relieved when he came back to them on his own without any prodding on their part. They WOULD have, if necessary, if it had taken too long for him to work it through on his own, but they figured short-circuiting the process might have unexpected, probably detrimental, results. They each had their own 'buttons' that it was dangerous to push; for Goniff, one of the most dangerous of those buttons had just walked out of here, their con man in tow.

"Sorry about that, mates," the Englishman apologized sheepishly in barely a whisper. "Got lost for aw'ile. I KNOW better, just . . ."

"Yeah, we know," Chief nodded. "Took us all by surprise. So, you figure it really IS Garrison?"

"No doubt about that. Not like I'd not know the difference. Don't know w'at 'e's got going, but we'd best play along. Knowing 'im, it could be pretty deep and with us not 'aving a clue, don't want to do anything to muck things up. Best watch w'at we say, including anything about anyone ELSE w'at may cause a problem.

The solid confidence in that low voice reassured them, let them acknowledge they'd been thinking pretty much the same thing. If the Warden had a con going, ANYTHING they did, SAID, could put a monkey-wrench in the works. And they'd caught that other warning - no, they wouldn't be mentioning the O'Donnell woman, her or anyone else who was likely to stand on their side. There was just too much they didn't know this early in the game.

So, they kept the conversation on other things, each offering a topic in turn, depending on their mood and preferences. With Casino, of course, it was women; with Goniff, food. Chief was quieter, but that shouldn't have surprised any listeners. He wasn't known for being overly chatty.

And, in accord with their agreement between them, they put their trust in Garrison, that he was still out there, working whatever con he was working, still looking out for them. The hours passed, their voices stopped as they each grabbed whatever sleep their busy minds would allow, and still that door remained locked.

The next morning, after a meager meal delivered by an indifferent guard, they were linked together by shackles and chains and ushered out to be placed into the care of a Sergeant Moore and taken to a different cell in a different building some twenty minutes away by truck. 

Moore saw no reason to offer them any explanations for the change in location, swung a casual reproving backhand in Casino's direction when the safecracker asked "hey, big guy. We asked for the Presidential Suite, ya know? This don't look like it. What happened? It all booked up? Maybe Churchill got dibs?" 

Even when Casino switched to trying to mimic Actor's more sophisticated sort of communication with a gracious "I mean - might we have our current address, Sergeant? So that we might get our mail forwarded properly, you see," he got no reply, just a bored "just get yourselves along in there, and shut up."

Goniff looked around appraisingly once that iron door slammed shut and they were left alone. "Don't see it's that much of a step upward. Might be even colder than the other one."

What they really wanted to discuss, whether Garrison knew they'd been moved or why, they refrained from doing. Whether that other cell had been bugged, this one was for sure; whoever rigged it up hadn't even bothered to hide the wires all that much. Still, those little signals Garrison had taught them, the ones they all used so much in the field, those came in handy. Especially that 'just play along, wait', along with that 'I'm okay', not to mention the language, the words they spoke only with their eyes, those quick flashes of a smile. Those all joined together to reassure them, remind them that 'the Warden will be keeping his eyes open, doing his best; it'll be okay. We just wait and trust him.'

Their hopes were raised when they were motioned out later in the afternoon, though the shackles and chains were put back in place. Maybe now . . .

When they were unloaded from that van, moved onto the platform of a railway station, they readied themselves for action. After all, it was an ideal location for a con, for Garrison and Actor to get them free, what with people coming and going all over the place. 

Those two Dutch nuns, for example, black robes flowing, oversized white headpieces hiding so much of their faces, heads downturned as they worried at their beads - that would be a good possibility. But no, the two had passed silently along to collect their bags from a pile at the other end, then move away into the darkness.

Again, the two approaching businessmen, seemingly focused only on their discussion of that upcoming business deal - one dark, the other fair - maybe them??? Didn't look too much like Actor and Garrison, but both could rig a good disguise when they wanted to. Those two, they came closer, took one wary look at the three men in chains, their guards, and moved to the far side of the station. No, no one the guys knew.

Finally Casino was losing patience. When he saw their own guards distracted by a chattery group of girls, he nudged Chief, caught Goniff's eye. A flash of a signal, awkward with the cuffs, but still recognizeable, 'we bail, now!' 

And it was a serious temptation, no one could argue that. Casino waited, impatient, knowing they didn't have long before the guards returned their attention to the prisoners.

Chief hesitated, then firmed his lips. No, that was a sucker move, he figured. Just get them killed, more than likely, or at least in more trouble. Better wait for the Warden and whatever he had in mind. He returned a quick 'negative. We wait, play along.'

Casino barely kept from swearing at that sign, looked at Goniff, hoping the little Limey would support him, forcing Chief to go along. No such luck. If anything, Goniff had an even more stubborn cast to his face. 'Negative. We wait, play along!' came the signal, this one even more forcefully than the one Chief had managed.

Then it was too late. The girls were gone, the guards snapping to attention when Sergeant Moore strode forward and resumed command. They were herded onto the train, into a railcar, and the train left the station, slowly, then faster and faster, carrying them away into the night. Until, some time later, the train slowed, then pulled to a stop. 

"What are we stopping for?" Casino asked Moore, still hoping for some information, something that might prove helpful, if not now, then later on. "And where?" he asked, peering out into the darkness.

Moore just frowned. He didn't know, obviously; was just as puzzled by the sudden stop as they were.

The guys picked up on that easily; tensed, waiting. {"Maybe now? Maybe . . . "}

The door opened, but not to anyone they knew. Another sergeant, this one with bushy mutton-chops. 

"Sergeant Moore? I'm Sergeant Cullahan. I've orders to take these off your hands. Leave a couple of your men to assist; I promise I'll return them later. There's transport waiting outside to take you and the others back to London."

The new arrival pointed to Corporal Bates and Private Nees, motioning them to remain in place. "Those two will do," and so it was done, Moore and the others off and gone.

Casino tried to draw out the new man in charge, but again, nothing was forthcoming. Frustrated, the man flashed a discreet signal to the others. There was nothing he could discern in this Sergeant Cullahan that would indicate he was part of a con, part of the rescue they were expecting. And they settled back in silence, once again to wait for something, anything.

They fought the doubts trying to crowd in, and what doubts they DID allow to come front and center, they were more doubts about whether even Garrison, as smart and cunning as he undoubtedly was, could track them down now, not doubts that their leader would still be trying to get them out of the jam they'd found themselves in.

Goniff flashed them a weak but encouraging smile in return to the questioning look from the others. 

{"Come on, guys. 'E won't let us down. 'E WOULDN'T, not Craig! We just 'old firm, just play along, like always!"}

And if it was getting harder to do that, well, Goniff knew that was just due to his own weakness, his own fears. But, in spite of himself, those dismissive words Garrison had said in that cold jail cell, that chilly and indifferent look in those green eyes, those both did keep popping up at odd moments, no matter how hard he slapped them down.

Cullahan let them shift positions when Goniff pleaded "riding backwards makes my stomach twitchy, Sergeant! Don't want to go tossing up all over everything!" Now they were seated side by side, him and Chief, with Casino on the bench opposite. Cullahan took the single seat to the side, leaving Bates and Nees to balance themselves uneasily against the motion of the train.

Chief had his eyes halfway closed but he was keeping a close watch on everyone and everything. Bates, now, he was getting a little careless, letting the movement of the train get him closer and closer. The keys dangling from the Corporal's belt were tempting Goniff, that Chief knew, but there was something off, just something about the guard's eyes. There was something deliberate there, like he was on purpose putting those all-important keys within the reach of the one who just might be able to lift them best, would be most tempted to make a try.

He could feel Goniff start to tense in anticipation, just a little, enough HE could tell but no one else. Quickly, he coughed, feeling those blue eyes shift in his direction. {"No! It's all wrong, Goniff!"} and felt that wiry shoulder relax just a fraction. Message sent, message received.

Casino had given up on drawing Sergeant Cullahan into meaningful conversation. {"Warden, where the hell ARE you? The further away we get, the harder it's gonna be for you to track us down!"}. And he was starting to wonder if they'd been wrong to wait, if HE'd been wrong not make a break, force the other two along to snatch that opportunity he'd pushed for back at the station.

Cullahan had watched Bates moving closer and closer to the one he'd been told was an accomplished pickpocket and slight-of-hand artist. It was almost amusing, he thought, seeing all the plays and interplays going on. Oh, he didn't know what all those little signals and moves truly meant, but he could see them, knew they were there. Never mind, he had his own moves yet to play.

Still, for safety's sake, and to prevent anything from interferring with his own plans, he ordered Nees to take Goniff into another car. Well, that's why he'd arranged for that extra space, just in case it became necessary to separate the men. He'd debated having one of the other prisoners go too, but while he had confidence Private Nees, hulking but not overly bright, could handle the pickpocket, he wasn't sure about whether he would be successful if faced with the pickpocket and one of the other two. No, Cullahan would keep the other two right here, under his own watchful eyes. 

Goniff gulped as he was pushed out of the compartment; it was one thing to keep your spirits up, keep waiting, when you had someone else waiting with you. Now, to be taken off on his own, he didn't like that one little bit!

He took one appraising and more than a little apprehensive look at the huge man pushing him along. It was reassuring that the only expression on Nees's face was one of concentration, as if the simple orders he'd been given were all he could manage to comprehend, carry out. 

Still, when he was chivvied from one railcar to the next, along that narrow jolting and shifting connection surrounded only by open air on each side, he found himself sweating, thinking about what would happen if he lost his balance and fell under those unrelenting metal wheels. {"Ruddy 'ell! Not like you ain't managed doing things like this before!! Stop acting like some ruddy tike!"} he scolded himself. And he made it to the other side, thinking he could relax at least a little. But it seemed they weren't finished, as he was hurried through that next car, past all the staring passengers, and out the door at the other side, out onto another jolting platform into the rushing wind. 

The second and then the third time he had to manage that manoeuvre had him swearing to himself, forcing himself to keep from shoving backwards in instinctive protest against that hard hand that was sending him out onto the narrow bridge that connected with the third railcar over from where he'd started. 

{"Probably end up sending us BOTH over! Just DO this, Goniff! Get it across!"}. 

He let a vision of Garrison form in front of him, encouraging smile on that familiar face, calm green eyes showing their confidence in his ability to hold it together, to get the job done. That did the trick, but also got him wondering, yet again, just how long they were supposed to wait, how long before the lieutenant showed up to pull them out of the soup.

There was another man waiting when Goniff and Nees entered the compartment, one who greeted them stoically. "Name's Banner. Sergeant Cullahan said he'd probably be sending one or two of them up here," and firmly nodded Goniff over to a seat on the bench. It was by the window, not that that helped much, being as how that possible avenue of escape was locked and even barred with a makeshift rod jammed into place. 

No, Goniff's excellent view didn't help much, except, of course, to give him a good view of the activity an hour or so later, when they pulled to yet another stop. By then, Nees had been replaced with Bates, and Goniff's eyes once again trailed after that tempting set of keys. {"If I can get 'old of those, make it through that lock on the window, get over to the others . . . "}, then dismissing the thought even as he had it. There were just too many problems with that, and besides, he'd promised to wait, give Craig every opportunity to pull them out of this mess. To live up to the trust, the faith they had, Goniff more than any of them, put in the young officer.

Once Goniff had been taken away, Casino had exchanged a very worried look with Chief. Them being separated, no, that wasn't good. Cullahan noted that, didn't comment. He didn't mind them being worried, as long as they didn't get SO worried they'd get desperate and try to make a break. It wouldn't do him any good to haul in two dead bodies - that would be to no one's profit.

It turned out he wasn't going to be hauling in THESE two bodies at all, not after the train ground to a stop and a new contingent of guards, these Welsh, boarded and presented papers to take charge of the prisoners. The leader, a big dark-haired Welshman, had demanded the third, but Cullahan had smilingly proclaimed, "oh, we had to move him. He wasn't feeling all that well; didn't want a mess in here." They obviously intended to press him for a better answer, but he delayed, moving a few steps closer to the wall. He'd known they weren't what they claimed, but they outnumbered him and his one guard, and so he gritted his teeth and didn't argue. He DID lurch over and pull that Emergency cord, the one sounding the alarm, and the intruders quickly grabbed his two prisoners and fled into the cars waiting in the shadows. 

Goniff could only lurch into the other seat, the one looking backwards, could only watch with shock, then with wild hope, when that last railcar erupted in a burst of activity, men in unfamiliar uniforms boarding, disappearing for a brief time, before reappearing once again. Reappearing with Chief and Casino, and then disappearing toward a long staff car, where he caught a brief glimpse of a familiar figure standing alongside - Actor.

He sat frozen in place, tense, watching, waiting. He'd be next, he knew that! 

But that didn't happen, the train started up and pulled away while he sat, immobile with the shock of it all. Sergeant Cullahan burst into the car, dark anger marring that former professionalism. 

"Trouble?" Banner asked with a worried frown, stepping in close so that Bates and Goniff wouldn't overhear.

"Enough," Cullahan admitted in a low voice. "It's over now. They've gone, now they'd got what they were after. What about here?"

Banner snorted in disgust. "Nothing, other than Bates keeps letting him get too close. No chance it's just carelessness. He's baiting him, that's easy to see. Figure he has plans of his own."

Cullahan nodded; he'd been expecting that. Well, it wasn't going to happen, not now. Bad enough to lose the other two, he wasn't going to show up empty handed!

But from the look on the Cockney's face, that look of frozen shock in his eyes, there was no trouble waiting from that end. Now Bates, that was something different. 

When Bates edged just a little closer, obviously an attempt at drawing the pickpocket into making a move, Cullahan decided enough was enough. Nodding to Banner, Cullahan flashed one of his OWN signals and moved closer to Goniff, just to be sure there was no danger from that standpoint, not that he could imagine there would be. There was something missing now, something that had been there before. Cullahan wasn't sure what that something was; he just knew the Cockney had given in, would accept whatever the future brought. 

{"Just as well. We don't need any trouble up there. Not that there would be anyway, not with him. Some men are leaders, some aren't. Now, that dark haired one who did so much talking back there, he might have been a problem. And the other, the one supposed to be so good with a knife, maybe he'd have been trouble too. Maybe it's just as well. It's not like there's not plenty more where these came from."}

Corporal Bates wasn't much interested in that casual invitation being extended, the one to join Banner for a smoke, but an indulgent look from Sergeant Callahan, coupled with a mild order "go along, Corporal. You need a break, and I'm quite sure I can manage this one for a short while," had him reluctantly following the other man out of the compartment and out onto the jolting metal platform. Oh, well, he'd have time to prod that damned fool into making a try for the keys later. 

Twenty minutes later, when Goniff finally looked up from that deep inspection of what was left of his confidence, his faith, he realized Bates hadn't returned - now there was only Cullahan and Banner sitting across from him, calmly talking over something he couldn't quite hear, and most likely wouldn't have understood even if he had. Bates never did return, Nees never joined them, and Goniff didn't care enough to ask.

The journey continued, marked only by some jolting and rumbling that might indicate a switch in tracks, then finally they pulled to a grinding stop in the middle of nowhere. Goniff was pulled out of a troubled doze to stumble down the steps to the ground, there to be pushed into a cart pulled by two horses. He huddled, cold, scared, wondering just where in hell he'd ended up.

Eventually, being pulled out of the cart, bracing himself on the side, he looked at what was being described so cheerily as "your new home. Get used to it. Not like you're leaving it anytime soon. Ever, in fact." 

And he looked at the dark hole in the ground, the signs of men working, the heavy-set man delivering that bracing welcome, and the hope, the faith and trust he'd tried so hard to hold on to, shrank to where he could barely see it anymore. It was still there; he could see it if he really tried, but it was more a memory, a ghost of something that he'd thought was too strong to ever fade, ever fail him. Until now.

He stumbled on, down, into the nightmare he'd ended up in, then to the tiny bare cubbyhole that was his new home, received his instructions, and just nodded numbly. He barely took note of those around him when he was pulled out a few hours later, other than giving an accepting nod at their warnings, their description of what had happened to others, what was most likely waiting for him. He soon knew he was one of seven men here now. There had been ten, but two had died in an accident the month before, and a third, close friend to one of those, had said too much and had come up for punishment. The man, one Davey, hadn't survived, and now supposedly occupied the burial pit situated over the hill. 

And in the days that lay ahead, he did the job he was put to, let his mind wander in whatever direction it chose, let himself remember. And if his mind took off in a few unexpected directions, he didn't protest. For one thing, since he knew Casino and Chief had been headed for this place too, he let himself think about what they might have accomplished together - maybe escaped, maybe even led the others to do the same. But, he admitted to himself, with Casino's temper, they'd probably all three just ended up dead and maybe others besides. And he really didn't like the idea of his two friends being stuck in this mine, even to keep him company. Still, he conjured them up at least once a day, just to see their faces, hear their voices, though not letting them stay long. He didn't let Craig visit, though; he just couldn't handle that. He didn't let Meghada visit either, but for different reasons. 

Not that it helped him all that much, those visits, but the other ways his mind was taking to keep itself occupied, he was finding it interesting in some odd sort of way, a distraction anyway from the cold and the damp and the sheer bone-numbing exhaustion. 

And best of all, it all let him calm the feelings, the emotions he didn't want to feel, the harsh words that had first come to him. No, he'd stick with what had pretty much replaced those words - particularly that one word that, however unlikely, said so much of what he knew was true. It offered comfort where there was none else to be found. That was what he wanted to cling to when he finally ended up in that pit over the hill that contained what was left of the others who'd worked here, had been used up, then discarded. Right to the end, he'd cling to that, he promised himself, no matter what. After all, they were ALL his thoughts, weren't they, those first harsh ones, then the more thoughtful ones that came after? Seems he should be the one to decide which stayed up close, which kept their distance, out of sight.

Eventually, on a day which started no different than any of the other endless days, when the hurried order came for the men to gather at the mouth of the mine, he wondered, though he'd been told of the 'round-ups' called when someone had said or done the wrong thing, stepped out of line in some way. Those times when everyone was shoved to the front, then out into the sunlight they rarely saw, there to watch one of them pulled out to receive punishment. He knew, by the stories, that sometimes that one returned with the others to nurse his wounds in silence; sometimes he never returned at all, but went to join the others, over the hill. 

Now, that big bruiser Joel, the guard handiest with his fists, roughly pushed them out of the darkness, though Goniff noted Joel seemed upset, worried, right along with that seething anger that never seemed to leave the man. One last push by Joel and two of the men stumbled, ending up outside, but sprawled on the rocky ground; the rest moved out as well, but able to maintain their footing on the uneven surface. Goniff paused, trying to see his way ahead. Joel barked something, swung his hand at the Cockney in frustrated fury, but, at the barked words of warning, stopped before making contact. 

In the sudden glare of the bright light from above, despite the ominous sound of several rifles being cocked, Goniff couldn't help himself. Raising his chained wrists to allow his hands to shield his blinking eyes from the sun, trying to see through the watering brought to them by that harsh and unexpected light, he froze. Familiar voices, a familiar hand at his shoulder, while other hands, equally familiar, worked at the cuffs on his wrist. And, there, standing tall and strong on top of that work cart, a more-than-familiar figure, jaw clinched, hard green eyes blazing in the sunshine, rifle gripped with hands so tight the knuckles showed white even at that distance.

{"Craig??"} Goniff thought, his mind unable to comprehend what he was seeing, wondering if he'd died in one of those many accidents the mine had a way of providing, or maybe just lost what was left of his mind.

Then that hand on his shoulder shook him, carefully, "Goniff? Hey, Goniff!" and he turned incredulous eyes to the dark ones looking at him so anxiously, then down to equally dark ones making short work of those cuffs. "Chief? Casino?" he said wonderingly.

"Yeah, it's us," Casino said, for once not being able to come up with a smartass remark. "Beautiful's over there, holding the bore of that rifle to that bastard Shaney's throat."

Goniff swallowed, trying to comprehend. "Shaney?" he asked in a rusty voice - rusty from disuse, rusty from that tightness that came with the dawning realization that they were here. They were really here. They'd found him. They'd come for him after all.

"The head guy; he owns this operation, him and his dumb ass sons," Casino snorted. 

Chief nodded quietly, his knife in his hand as he stroked it thoughtfully, looking at their team mate, all the signs of what the past weeks had been like. "He OWNED this operation; don't think the Warden's gonna let that stand."

Goniff let that process, then hurried to let them know. "That Sergeant Cullahan, 'e's the one w'at brought me 'ere. Think 'e's a partner of some kind. There's another, calls 'imself Banner; was on the train, in that other car."

Actor was there then, having turned over the job of intimidating the sullen Welshman to one of the volunteers who'd joined in this search and rescue mission. "We'll see to them as well, Goniff. Now let me take a look at you," he urged. He found it worrisome that Goniff hadn't turned to watch as Garrison leaped off that cart and was striding toward them, even seemed to hunch in on himself, turn slightly so he WOULDN'T see that approach.

"Goniff," Garrison greeted the fourth member of his team. "Sorry it took so long. It turned out a little more complicated that I expected." It was a surprisingly breezy greeting, one that didn't quite fit the situation, at least as far as the other three were concerned. But Goniff straightened, plastered one of his many masks onto his face, and turned with great effort to greet their leader.

"Ei, Lieutenant. It's alright; not everything can be a little walk in the park. Any'ow, everyone says a change is as good as a rest, right? Used up all my rest for the rest of the year, most likely." That attempt at one of his jaunty, cheeky looks was pathetic, but no one had the heart to tell him that. 

"Come on, Goniff. Let's go home," Garrison said, though for now letting Actor and the others manage the task of getting Goniff tucked into one of the vehicles they'd used to get there. The officer stayed behind, he and Reynolds, Billy and Murdock, walking a silent tour of that tin mine, the series of tiny bare cubbyholes that bore the mark of being a grim substitute for a 'hotel room'. Garrison DID leave the others to handle the details, though, to making sure everyone was present and accounted for; making sure the victims were kept far away from any of the scowling men being held at gunpoint. 

It would take time sorting all of that out, Garrison knew, figuring out what came next for everyone there. But his pickpocket was leaving with him, damn it! Even if it was in a jeep with silence riding like an extra passenger between them.

A week later:

The air in the garden was still, the only sound the far off discordant jangle of laughter from someone moving along the path from the village pub. They were in the garden because that's where Goniff had been standing, looking up at that shining orb in the sky, smoking a cigarette when Garrison came in the gate. The darkened cottage stood behind them, lit only by the full moon above. 

Usually that cottage was welcoming, had been a place of refuge, a place that offered them privacy and comfort, shelter from the outside world, but tonight Garrison knew better than to suggest they go inside out of the damp night air. He had a feeling the cottage probably wasn't feeling all that friendly toward him right now, and considering its owner, there was no telling what that might mean. She'd laughed once and called it the 'dragon's lair', and even with the Dragon, herself, not being there, he thought an unfriendly lair might not be something to risk. Yes, he was anthropomorphising - maybe - but still he felt it best to talk out here in the open air. There was just something about the way those dark brooding windows seemed to be watching him.

"Can you forgive me?" Garrison asked quietly, knowing his continued silence was only putting off the inevitable. It was hard, but it wasn't going to get any easier if he waited.

Those were the first words he'd spoken since he arrived. Goniff had glanced at him as he came in the gate, then returned to his moon-gazing, his cigarette, not saying a word, and Garrison had waited, uncertain how to begin the conversation that was ahead. 

Oh, the explanation of the Pemberly job, what had gone down and why, that had come earlier, first to Actor as soon as they'd returned to a friendlier place than that stockade - then to Casino and Chief - finally, much later, to Goniff. 

This, though, this was a different thing, though arising from the same events, and a casual introduction to that question seemed frivolous in the extreme, highly disrespectful in fact. No, the question was important enough to stand on its own.

It was a sincere question, though certainly not one he had much confidence would get a positive answer. He'd tried to figure the odds on his way over, but he'd stopped soon enough; it was just too damned discouraging. 

His mind went back to a conundrum presented by one of his philosophy teachers, Professor Armstrong, years ago - 'Who is the bigger man, in reality? The one who offends, openly admits his failings, owns up to his mistakes, and humbly asks forgiveness of the injured party? Or the one who, bearing the wounds, hears that confession, and setting aside his own injuries, offers that forgiveness openly and sincerely? And if the injured is unable to offer that forgiveness, what then? Does the apology itself stand as sufficient?' 

As Garrison remembered it, the arguments had flown hot and heavy on each, actually on EVERY side, along with some nuances not originally presented, though an absolute answer had never been decided. Well, that was often the way with philosophical questions, or so his teacher had proclaimed at the end; in fact, it seemed that was even the point he had been driving at.

Garrison ruefully knew he now had a much deeper insight into that age-old question than he had back then. He could only hope Goniff was able, was WILLING, to be the bigger man here and now. That was something outside his control, he knew, and a great deal depended on the answer to that question.

Oh, the team was back operating again, or at least they would be headed out on a new assignment in a couple of days. And at least the trust between the four men was still solid; that was easy to see. And truthfully, other than Casino belting him in the jaw halfway through his own explanation, and all three - at least Actor and Chief and Casino - taking their turns in telling him a few home truths, he knew he could lead them with confidence still. They still had an important job to do, after all, a war to fight and help win. Though, next time, if there was a next time, he'd put his faith in his men - in them being able to pull off a con, TRUST them to pull it off, rather than listen to the know-it-alls at HQ who, in the end, knew a great deal less than ALL about any number of things.

It had been a job, his guys knew that, and now, knowing all the facts, knew it hadn't been one he could step aside from, no matter the unforeseen repercussions. Now the traitors were locked away, Whitehall scurrying to try and figure out the full extent of the damages, trying to put safeguards in place to prevent a repeat of that threat.

But as for the rest, what he was facing here, that was something still up in the air. No, he wasn't placing any bets, no matter how he wanted things to pan out. And if things DIDN'T pan out, well, he wouldn't be blaming anyone but himself. Himself, and pure bad luck, enough for a hundred missions, all rolled up into this one miserable set of circumstances. 

Not for the first time, he wished Meghada had been here, but she'd gone off on some hush-hush project before the balloon went up on this mess and hadn't gotten back yet. Heaven knows what she'd say when she heard how badly he'd botched things; he knew he'd be hearing a few home truths from that source as well. In fact, he thought he might find the Dragon had just as wicked a punch as Casino. 

But first, he had to wait and listen and learn exactly how bad things were.

There was a long silence. "I 'onestly don't know what to say, Craig. I'm working on it but . . ." Goniff choked to a halt. There was a pregnant pause before he continued. "Not saying I don't understand. I do - well, sort of. Couldn't let that operation go on, I know that, from w'at you've told us, and you weren't sure who was in on it, w'at feelers and alarms they 'ad in place. But - you could've given us a signal, something, anything," came out slowly in the beginning, but finishing in a fevered aggrieved rush. "Just SOMETHING! Something to let us know you were still there, still trying. Something other than just collecting Actor, then just turning around and walking away like that!"

Garrison's voice was flat, "you thought I just turned my back, walked away. From the guys. From you. Left you on your own to whatever might come and never looked back. That's it? It's that simple?" 

{"And there's a laugh for you. Simple? There's not a damn thing simple about any of this!"}

Goniff whirled, anguish fierce in his face, the lines harsh in the bright moonlight. 

"Didn't want to, Craig, none of us did. We tried not to, but w'en you took Actor and just left us, it took all we 'ad to put a good face on it; still, we figured you probably 'ad some plan, some con going on, something it was best we not know about yet. So we played along, didn't make a break even w'en it looked like it might be possible. W'en we ended up on that ruddy train 'eading off for some cell somew'ere, if not worse, still we kept thinking "maybe", and we waited. Then, when there STILL wasn't a ruddy word from you? - NOTHING??! 'OW many signals did we put together, Craig, saying all sorts of things? Any number of them woulda told the story, at least enough to let us know you were still THERE, still trying, telling us it was okay to keep trusting you. But there wasn't, not one ruddy thing! That w'ole ruddy time!"

The accusing tone was deserved, Garrison knew that, couldn't build up any righteous indignation. Hell, he deserved worse and he knew it. They were good, they could run with a con, even with just a vague signal; he KNEW that! 

He should have trusted them to do what needed to be done, but instead he'd listened to the firm orders from Major Danaher, not his own gut that had been urging him to give that signal, let them know it was all a con. He'd never do that again, never! How could he question them losing faith in him when he'd not shown that same respect, not shown his faith, given them his trust. That they'd held out as long as they had, that was what he marveled at.

"Danaher was supposed to see you were all kept safe and out of the line of fire. And when that went wrong, Fergus was supposed to flash each of you the sign once you got on board the train. That he'd been held up, couldn't get close enough, we didn't know that til after you pulled out," Garrison ground out, his own voice tight with frustrated emotion. 

It had taken minutes they didn't have to spare for Fergus, a friend-of-a-friend, to talk his way past that overly-suspicious sentry, and by the time he had, the window of opportunity for seeing the guys, flashing them that set of signals, giving them some reassurance, had closed. Not that Garrison would know that til after Fergus met up with the group again, and by then it was too late for a Plan B. 

Of course, by that time, it was probably more like Plan E or F. Looking back, it seemed Garrison hardly had one plan in place before it went to hell and he had to come up with another one. After awhile, assigning them their own letter had only been a way of keeping track of how many others he'd had to scuttle.

"Well, that's something, I suppose," Goniff muttered, turning back to look into the shadows. "And then, w'en it looked like someone was making a try to get us away, during that first stop, seemed it must 'ave been you, w'at with 'Gaida still most likely gone. Thought we'd been right to try and believe after all, to wait, to trust that you were still out there, still trying. Course, then . . ." and his voice trailed off, remembering how that felt, the realization that a rescue had been made, had been successful as far as Chief and Casino were concerned, as far as he could tell, but that he hadn't been part of it. From what he could see from the window, what he could hear, there'd been no movement toward his own location at all; no sign he'd ever been intended to even be part of that rescue attempt. That he'd been left behind, on his own, not only to face whatever had been already intended for him and the others, but now to face the anger and frustration of their guards at the others escaping.

Garrison winced. That had never been his intention, Goniff being left alone in the uncaring, even vindictive hands of the military guards. That the three had been separated, that was something the rescuers didn't know until after those chosen for the attempt had boarded the train, and that Goniff had been elsewhere, actually three cars over from the other two, had made time run out before they figured that out, could get to him. 

It could easily have worked out differently, of course, could have been one of the other two placed that far away. It still would have left one of his men behind, but it wouldn't have been Goniff. No, Garrison wouldn't have wanted either of the others in that position, never - but, for Goniff, the one who would have had even more reason to feel betrayed by what appeared to be that cold abandonment, to have been left behind, not knowing what had been intended, what had gone wrong . . .

Garrison had put the plan together with every intention of getting all three men safely away til all of this could be resolved. Everyone knew their role; he would con the station master into ordering that unscheduled stop. Actor was to hang back with transport; it was important no one identified the con man as being part of this, just in case it all went to hell, so it was necessary he stayed out of sight. The others were entrusted to board the train in their guise as Welsh security guards and carry out the rescue.

Garrison knew he'd feel that cold chill many a night, that chill he'd felt when he saw them headed toward him, the determined men selected from a motley collection of daring individuals - some friends, some only friend-of-a-friend sorts, but all capable and willing - along with the two - only two, not three! - men now out of unfriendly hands. To realize, to hear that hurried report, to see the confusion, the accusations in Chief and Casino's faces, to watch that train streaming out of sight carrying Goniff away. {"If I'd gone with them instead of working the con to delay the train, would it have made a difference? If I'd known, I would have had Actor do that part under heavy disguise; I would have been on board that train! Maybe then, maybe . . ."}

{"The road to hell truly is paved with good intentions,"} he noted to himself, {"but at least sometimes Fate, or maybe Luck decides to come down on your side, at least enough to keep you from sliding in through those twisted black metal gates, even if you do get some serious road burn along the way. Which is good, since my training, my 'expert planning' sure as hell wasn't doing the trick!"} 

Obviously, in this case anyway, Fate, ie Luck, didn't intervene often enough, nor early enough, but it had been enough to help, and that had made all the difference in the final outcome. No, his planning had damn-all to do with it!

That Sergeant Cullahan, head guard, had been a man with a well-rounded and pragmatic point of view, not allowing the others to take their anger out on the pickpocket - that had certainly not been due to Garrison's oh-so-expert planning. Of course, Cullahan DID have his own motivation, so no one was eager to give him all that much credit.

That Goniff had refrained from making a try for the keys Corporal Bates wore so openly, so temptingly on his belt, was probably all that had kept the pickpocket alive then, even with Sergeant Cullahan in the railcar. Bates, working both sides, had knowingly set a trap, but Goniff had found himself too numb, past caring, at least at the right moment for lifting those keys. Bates got NO credit, from either of his employers or anyone else; his body was found beside the train tracks a half-day's journey ahead, though which of those employers had lost patience with his ineptitude, who knows. No one was willing to admit anything, anyway, and his death was put down as 'misadventure', along with that of Private Nees.

Garrison and his hastily-formed company of volunteers had finally tracked down where that train made its unexpected, unscheduled, switch to another line, then another. Then to where the sole remaining prisoner had been unloaded. And, eventually, to where their pickpocket had finally ended up. 

But that had taken another three weeks of frantic digging, frantic searching out every possible lead. Garrison had abandoned the London end of the operation to the capable hands of a highly-annoyed Major Kevin Richards, focusing entirely on the search. No, Richards wasn't annoyed at Garrison, but he DID have a list of others he intended to have a few choice words with, and frankly, regretted his uniform limited him to using just words. Somehow this entire situation called for something much stronger in his mind - maybe he WAS spending too much time around the O'Donnell sisters, though he was still undecided as to whether that result was a good thing or bad.

Still, in spite of all the frantic effort being put forth, it had BEEN three full weeks before a small group of determined men retrieved a silent and worn Cockney from, of all places, a tin mine operation worked by a ragtag group of other forgotten men, men who blinked when they were reacquainted with the sunlight. Those men who, stunned at a release they'd never expected, had given up hope of ever coming, could only falteringly give their histories, theirs and what they knew of the histories of those dumped in the pit over the hill. They told of how they'd ended up in the 'custody' of the sullen mine owner, who wasn't at all thrilled to be losing his captive unpaid labor force provided mainly by his silent partner, his brother-in-law, Sergeant Cullahan. Well, somehow, none of the men involved - prisoners or rescuers - were all that concerned about the man's feelings, his or his burly sons who'd acted as guards and enforcers for the operation. They hadn't been all that concerned with Sergeant Cullahan's feelings, either, when they nabbed him not long after.

Three weeks - they had seemed an eternity to Garrison and his men, more than that to Goniff, who had fully expected to spend what was left of his life scrabbling in that miserable hole in the ground. Having heard accounts of tin mining and all that could befall those who dug it out, he hadn't figured that would be all that long anyway. 

And, frankly, between the cold and bone-chilling damp and the brutally hard work over long, long hours, and the misery of his own thoughts, he had trouble working up the energy or even the will to care all that much, except for wishing he could have said goodbye to 'Gaida and his mum and his Aunt Moll one last time. And the guys, of course. 

As for Craig - well, there really wasn't anything there to be said, now was there? A true wonder it was, to Goniff's mind, how much could be said without many words even being spoken. Craig had said a world's worth of words, after all, just by those few he'd come across with in that cell and by what had happened since they'd been taken into custody. And the thought ran through his head, echoing til he thought it would drive him mad {"likely the truest words 'e ever did say, leastwise to me."}. 

Til the other thoughts came, thoughts he was maybe a little surprised at, but finally accepted as being as real, as valid as that first bitter one. Those later thoughts were the ones he ended up keeping at the forefront, there in that rocky mine, the ones he wanted to have close at hand when his life finally came to an end.

"I can't imagine what that felt like, what must have been going through your mind," Garrison now offered hesitantly. 

Well, yes, he thought maybe he could, maybe, but it seemed presumptuous in the extreme to claim such knowledge, especially since he was the one who'd thought up this oh-so-clever plan, had gone along with what Major Danaher had proposed, trusting his men would be kept safe, even if they were being kept in the dark about the reasons behind the whole affair. HE hadn't been the one wearing shackles, the one left alone, abandoned, while the others had been pulled away, hopefully to safety - first Actor, then Casino and Chief. Only Goniff had been left behind - alone, still handcuffed, still shackled to the metal supports of that folding seat. 

It had been Goniff, destined for a hard life and probably harder death at forced labor, thinking himself abandoned by someone he should have been able to rely on. If Garrison had suffered the pangs of the damned at that thought, all the way up to when he saw that slender ragtag figure stumble out of that damned mine along with the others, what had Goniff, living through it, been going through?

"Though I CAN imagine some of the names you were calling me by then," he offered ruefully. Some of those were probably as vile as the ones Garrison had been calling himself during that whole nightmare, possibly even more so, though probably couched in a Cockney cant Garrison would have been hard-pressed to understand. His mind flickered unexpectedly to the possibilities there. {"Someone really should put together a cross-reference dictionary of those words."}

"'Bastard' was probably the least of them," he admitted. "At least that was one of the prime ones I was calling myself when it all went to hell, time after time, though I admit to adding on a wide assortment of adjectives. 

"You always know every plan has a chance of blowing up in your face; but with this one, it KEPT happening, around every damned corner, Goniff. I couldn't make a move without it going wrong, and you and the guys kept ending up on the short end. You especially. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be, you know. Yeah, I bet you had a few words for me. I know the other guys had a list. Casino added his fist into the pot," Garrison admitted, rubbing the spot on his jaw that had taken that blow.

He thought about adding an attempt at humor, something about being asked to turn in his 'rabbit out of a hat' badge, but he couldn't - and not just because he figured Goniff might slug him too if he did. Again, it just wasn't the right time, the right place. He wasn't sure the time ever WOULD be right, not where this fiasco was concerned. Surely there wasn't one damned thing amusing about anything that had happened.

Goniff slowly turned, raised his tired eyes, his face now without any masks at all, certainly none Garrison recognized. It was a disconcerting sight. The pickpocket had recovered from his ordeal, though sleeping round the clock for the first two days back, rousing to eat ravenously, then sleeping for another two days. Now there was an air of weary resignation there that didn't bode well for how this was going to turn out. Though where that touch of amusement was coming from, one seemingly directed at Goniff himself, not Garrison, Garrison didn't have a clue. And he had the feeling Goniff was finding that, the amusement, just as surprising as Garrison was. Well, as he'd just thought to himself, there hadn't been one damned thing amusing in this mess that he could see.

Garrison braced himself, waiting for the blow, physical or verbal, he was sure was coming. Not that he didn't think it was justified, whichever, but still . . .

Then, with just a bit of a grimace, and Goniff admitted, "only one word, really. Or at least just one thing that kept coming to mind mostly. Not you being a bastard, not some of the other things you might think I might've been thinking. Oh, a few maybe, I'm only 'uman," he ground out with a rusty chuckle, taking another drag off that cigarette.

"But I kept most of the really bad names for myself. After all, figured in a lot of ways it was my own fault. Should've known better, I kept telling myself; 'ad been ruddy stupid, ever thinking any different, w'at with you being you and me being me. Kept thinking about that, about 'ow much of a ruddy fool I was, thinking w'at I saw in you was the same as w'at I knew I'd seen in 'Gaida, in 'er eyes. But really, only one real important thing kept popping up. One word - 'lucky'." 

Garrison stared, frowning in confusion. {"Lucky??! What? How on earth . . .?"}

And that raspy voice faded til it could barely be heard, even in the encompassing silence of the night. "Kept thinking - - - kept thinking about 'ow lucky we'd been you chose us in the first place, got us out of prison the way you did. Oh, Actor would likely 'ave made it out alive, more than likely - Casino, too, probably. Chief? I doubt it, and me, I was on my way out already - was walking a narrow string with one of the bosses standing by with a knife.

"Thought about 'ow lucky we'd been at getting someone as smart, as good as you to lead us; ruddy well seen enough others running around to know that most would 'ave gotten us killed right off or else sent back the first time we popped off with something smart, or they saw something they didn't like. It's cause of you we'd been able to make it that far.

"The rest? That you were a ruddy 'eartache just waiting to 'appen for some lucky someone? That was easy enough to see, you with them pretty green eyes and all the rest of the package. Oh, I've met my share of 'eartbreakers, even 'ad a few was interested, if you know w'at I mean, but I never felt the urge to go along, not if I 'ad a choice. 'Ad more than enough complications already, and never 'ad that strong a pull in that direction - for the blokes, I mean. You, that was something else; knew early on I wouldn't mind, then knew it was a 'ell of a lot more than just not minding. Just didn't think I'd be anyone those green eyes would look twice at, would light on, not til in that merc camp, w'en I kinda wondered afterwards. That was just luck too, I guess, that you DID look twice. A little like with me and 'Gaida, though not in all ways I suppose. Still - you and me? For a little w'hile anyway? Lucky, lucky me." 

Those last words, words that should have come across as bitterly ironic, maybe deeply sarcastic, considering this last mess, didn't, though Garrison couldn't imagine how that could be the case. Instead, while there was a puzzled note tucked in there for whatever reason, it seemed Goniff was deadly serious. Which didn't help Garrison's confusion, though it certainly added to the odd twisting in the pit of his stomach.

"Even with the way things 'appened, thinking you'd gone south on me and the guys - well, on me, anyway, there at the end - still, Craig - 'lucky' was the main thing that kept popping up in my mind."

Garrison groaned and instinctively reached out, pulling the smaller man closer, and once he knew he felt no real resistance there, only a fast exhaling of tension being released by the pickpocket at the physical contact, enfolded Goniff in a tight grip. 

There should have been words, Garrison was sure of that, considering all his education and study and training, but he couldn't think of any, not now. All he could do was let his arms speak for him and hope they were eloquent enough to serve the purpose. 

Hopefully that would be enough, at least for now. At least enough to give them another chance after he'd inadvertently done everything possible to screw things up. 

But that was going to be up to Goniff, whether the other man could find it within himself to forgive. Because unless he did, nevermind all else that would be lost, Garrison knew he was never going to be able to forgive himself. He wasn't sure he'd be able to manage that even if Goniff DID.

But he did manage a few words eventually, at least enough to ask about what it was Goniff had thought he'd seen in Garrison, what he'd seen to match what was in Meghada's eyes. After all, he had a feeling that was something of very real importance, something he really needed to know.

For a minute he wasn't sure he was going to get an answer. Then a low, reluctant, wistful, "forever. That's w'at I see with 'er, you know. That's w'at I thought I saw in your eyes too - forever. Dumb, I know. Sorry. I really AM sorry, Craig; just wasn't thinking straight. I'm ruddy well old enough to know better."

And somehow Garrison knew he hadn't totally screwed things up, COULDN'T have, not with that much at stake. Fate just couldn't be that much of a bastard, or a bitch, depending on which it was posing as today! But he also knew that he had to quickly figure out the magic words that would give them a chance at making this all work. 

And although he knew the middle of a war was no real time to be making promises; although he knew that life itself was risky and uncertain, and no one held total control over what lay ahead - still, he figured Goniff knew that as well if not better than he did, knew everything had a built-in 'Fate' factor, (though Casino called it something a little more blunt!), promises notwithstanding. 

So he stared at the moon shimmering in the distance, seeing not 'the man in the moon', or that 'lady at a dressing table' some said they could see in that shining orb, but a stern-faced warrior, female, armed with bow and knife but with a sash of flowing multi-hued ribbons giving him a hint of her identity. That look she was giving him - expectation mixed with open challenge - not ordering him, since that was not her way, but letting him know, somehow, his future was now up to him, whatever he chose to make of it. And woe betide him if he managed to screw this up, because she purely had no patience with stupidity, especially from some idiot who didn't seem to understand just how lucky he was! 

Yeah, so he knew it was his over-active imagination. He KNEW that. Still, he nodded to her respectfully, the Sweet Mother he'd heard so much about from the O'Donnells. {"Yes, I know, Mother Erdu. You don't need to tell me that I'm the lucky one! It may take me awhile, but I DO finally figure things out, eventually!"}. And he whispered gruffly down into the bowed head so close to him, "not so dumb, Goniff. Not dumb at all. In fact, that sounds just about right. Forever." 

And the firm, steady promise was there in his voice, not to be mistaken for anything else, anything less, and the Warrior served as Fair Witness to that promise and all it meant. 

{"Funny how this works out with us - comforter, comforted; protector, protected; who ends up apologizing, who ends up having to forgive. Who gets off track in a particular situation, who has the insight needed to get things back where they should be. Never just one role, one way, one direction, but ever-circling, ever-changing. Him, me, Meghada too. I don't know if that makes things simpler or more complicated, that we each find our roles changing, evolving - but one thing I'm sure of, it's going to make that 'forever' interesting as hell."}. 

And that reminded him, and he gave a wry chuckle. "That is, if Meghada doesn't string me up to a lamp post and draw and quarter me for this whole mess! I'm counting on you to talk her down, Goniff, otherwise that 'forever' is going to be a lot shorter than the usual definition."

Goniff swallowed hard, nodded vigorously, forcing out a chuckle of his own. "I promise, though it might take some doing. You KNOW 'ow she gets. Can just 'ear 'er now - "I go on a nice simple little job for Kevin Richards and you manage to get things THIS messed up? I was only gone a month or so! Sometimes, you two. . .!" You know, wouldn't be surprised if she don't come up with a song outta all this. Don't know I'll 'ave the 'eart to listen to it much, though," he admitted ruefully.

Then Goniff inhaled, seemingly all the way to his toes, held it for a long moment, then gave a long, drawn out sigh - of acceptance, of forgiveness? 

Garrison decided it was both, and was thankful, smiling in the darkness at the thought that he now had an answer to his philosophy teacher's conundrum. 

Goniff pulled back out of the embrace. "Well, come along in, Craig," offered the small Cockney briskly, the man Garrison now clearly recognized as the bigger of the two. "I'll get a nice snack together - you pour us a drink, maybe put a record on. No sense wasting a quiet night like this, especially if we're 'eaded out again so soon. And as much as I want to see 'er, might be best if 'Gaida doesn't get back til AFTER we leave. Then Richards can get stuck with telling 'er all about this mess; let 'er cool off before we get back. May save you a few lumps in case she's not feeling reasonable right off the bat. Course, 'er getting pissed means she usually starts cooking and baking and such to unwind; could be we'll be coming back to something more than a little nice if we're lucky. Maybe I'll leave 'er a note, suggesting a few things she might consider, ei? Italian, maybe, or maybe that curry she puts together. Along with plenty for afters, of course." And if his voice wasn't exactly as cheery as it often was, it was headed in a direction that might get him there eventually.

{"Yes, now I know the answer to that conundrum. Maybe I'll write Professor Armstrong after the war, tell him I solved the puzzle. With a little help, of course,"} Craig smiled to himself

And the moon, or at least the Warrior, the Sweet Mother, watched silently in the night in approval and rueful amusement - {"ah, you boys! The tangles you can get yourselves into! You are both lucky, you know, you and my Dragon as well. DO try and remember that in the future! And although it is perhaps efficient to clump so very MANY lessons into one set of experiences, it is perhaps a bit more strain than you should be placing on yourself and others, Craig. Perhaps you could try learning some of the lessons, both of you, merely by observation, without requiring anything so dire to prod you along? I DO have others to watch over and guide, you know, and I can only be in so many places at the same time! I'm already, how do you say it, pushing the envelope, where you and your friends are concerned!"}.

And the two men made their quiet way into the darkened cottage - a cottage Garrison could now feel welcoming him, them - beckoning them into its warmth, its shelter - a place where they'd take their next simple steps toward 'forever'. Starting with a nice little snack, a drink, some music, and maybe working up a list of delectables to leave on the table as a not-so-subtle hint to the resident cook when she returned to her Dragon's lair.


End file.
